


B & E

by romanticalgirl



Category: Southland
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I used the key</p>
            </blockquote>





	B & E

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) for the beta-services. For the [Sex Is Fun! Challenge](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/838628.html), because sex is fun. Yessirreebob.
> 
> Originally posted 3-4-10

TITLE: B & E  
AUTHOR: Laura Smith  
PAIRING: Cooper/Sherman  
RATING: NC-17  
SUMMARY: I used the key  
DISCLAIMER: Southland and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) for the beta-services. For the [Sex Is Fun! Challenge](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/838628.html), because sex is fun. Yessirreebob.

  
Cooper takes in the scene over the barrel of his gun. Ben’s standing beside the counter, his own gun pointed somewhere between John’s eyes, in front of the makings of what looks like a better dinner than the reheated Chinese food he had planned. John bites back a smile. “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

Ben engages his own safety and puts his gun away, giving John a dirty look as he does. “You’re early.”

“And a good thing too. I managed to stop a B&E in progress.”

“It’s just an entering. I used the key.”

“What key?”

“The one you gave Mrs. Ramirez.” Ben has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, so John decides to let him live. It’s a close call though, because John doesn’t put up with people fucking with his neighbors. It took him far too long to get them to trust that he was harmless. “ _She_ offered. I was standing outside with bags of groceries in my hand and she started talking to me in Spanish. The next thing I knew, she let me in.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Actually, since it’s Ben, John does believe it.

“If you don’t, you can go ask Mrs. Ramirez. I’ll warn you though, I’m pretty sure if you question her judgment, she’s likely to kick your ass even though she’s, like, eighty and you apparently dated her grandson.”

“I didn’t _date_ her grandson. He helped me build a wall.”

“Well, I could have corrected her and told her you _fucked_ her grandson, but I didn’t feel like suggesting that when she told me she hoped that I was a gentleman like Senor John.”

“You realize that none of this, as enlightening as it is, explains why the fuck you’re making me dinner.” He moves over to the refrigerator, popping the tab on the last of the Pabst Blue Ribbon he got on sale, ignoring the look Ben gives him. Cheap beer sucks, but it gets him just as drunk for less than half the price. Cop salaries and borderline pain killer addictions mean sacrifices. “And why you didn’t bring any good beer.”

“There is good beer. You just didn’t ask.” Ben picks up the slab of meat in front of him and flips it over, grabbing the wooden mallet on the counter and proceeding to beat the hell out of it.

“Taking out your aggressions?”

“Making it so this will melt in your mouth. Not that you deserve that after you let me chase that guy into the sewer.” The corners of Ben’s mouth curl up in the hint of a smile as John settles on one of the kitchen chairs. Ben reaches over, smacking the mallet lightly on the back of John’s hand when he reaches for one of the snap peas sitting in a bowl beside him. “Don’t touch.”

“Not what you said last night.”

“Last night I was tenderizing a different kind of meat.”

John cracks up, nearly choking on his beer. Ben gives him the biggest shit-eating grin and goes back to wielding the mallet, leaving small diamond shaped indentations in the beef. Catching his breath, John manages to croak, “Never refer to it as that again. I beg of you.”

“Mmm, begging. We haven’t done that before.”

Ben’s still grinning and John sets his beer on the counter, reaching across to still Ben’s hand. He manages to shake the mallet from Ben’s grip and then tightens his hold on Ben’s wrist, tugging him away from the counter out of the kitchen. “You beg all the time.”

“You don’t.” Ben follows him easily, his bare feet padding along behind John’s hard-soled boots into the bedroom. John sits on the edge of the bed and tugs Ben into his lap, hands sliding up the firm muscles of Ben’s back. Ben smiles down at John, loose and relaxed in his grip. “I bet I’d like making you beg.”

“I bet you would.” John tugs Ben’s shirt off, dropping it onto the floor. “You’re not going to get to, but I bet you would.” Ben raises an eyebrow, but he moves easily against John as John tugs him in, opening Ben’s mouth with a kiss, tongue sliding past his lips, scraping against Ben’s teeth. He gets a low moan in response, Ben shifting forward to press more firmly against John’s growing erection.

Ben reaches back, tugging John’s hands free from his ass and pushing until John collapses against the mattress and lets Ben pin his hands beside his head.

Ben’s smiling, his grin cocky and his eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s not forget who’s on top here.”

“That can be changed.” John points out. He’s got a good thirty pounds on Sherman, but being pinned under him has its advantages. “But give it your best shot, boot.”

Sherman laughs, low and hot, in that way that always eases the pain in John’s back better than any pills Laura gave him. Heat soothes away everything but the insistent throb of John’s cock as Ben’s knees dig into the mattress beside John’s hips and he lowers himself, mouth fitting against John’s before his tongue pushes past John’s lips, thrusting slowly. It’s like a steady fuck, and Ben’s a master at it, the tip of his tongue finding all the sensitive spots in John’s mouth, teasing against them.

“C’mon, Sherman.” John’s voice is rough, thick as his hips rock upward, his cock wanting friction and sensation. Ben shifts, rubbing himself along the length of John’s dick just enough that John wants _more_. “Fuck. Come _on_.”

“Is that begging? Sounds kind of like begging.” Ben laughs again, the sound more a huff of air than anything else, but it’s enough to irritate John into surging up and stealing a kiss. He rolls them over so Sherman’s beneath him and John can thrust down against him, denim against denim, cock against cock.

“Let’s make you beg and then you can tell me.” John smiles into a kiss Ben ruins by laughing, a real laugh this time, obviously enjoying himself. This is the give and take they’ve been working so damn hard to establish, both of them fighting for control and for respect and for equal footing, dragging each other down eroding cliffs of uncertainty from time to time. But this…this is good. John’s familiar with good. Normally he doesn’t recognize it until it’s walking away, but now he’s trying his best to hang on with both hands. “Or.”

“Or?”

“Or I could do this.” John kisses Ben and makes it count, taking his time and devouring Ben’s mouth, tasting every slick surface, every tender spot. He eats up Ben’s moans like they’re candy or pills, swallowing them whole and going for more. Ben ends up writhing beneath him, thrusting up desperately and wanting, matching the hard downward strokes of John’s hips.

”Stop…stop fucking _teasing_ ,” Ben groans, his fingers raking down John’s back, leaving nerves tingling in their wake. John pulls back enough to get his own shirt off, swallowing a groan as Ben arches up off the bed to undo his jeans, shoving them down his legs until his hands collide with John’s thighs, leaving his jeans bunched up at John’s knees and reaching up to the buckle of John’s belt. “Fuck me.”

“So demanding.” John loves watching Sherman undress him, loves the way his hands still shake a little with desire and something else as he strips away John’s clothes. John knows he wasn’t Sherman’s first, but he also knows the first isn’t always the one that matters. What matters is the way Ben wants him, the way he _needs_ and drives John half-crazy with it himself. Even so, he moves away from Ben’s touch; his cock is already primed to go, and he’s not sure he can handle Ben doing more than unbuckling his belt. He’s quick about getting undressed, but Ben’s already beaten him to it, his clothes already in piles on the floor while he lies back on John’s bed like a sacrifice to a god John’s not sure he’s ever believed in, but he’s willing to thank somebody for this. “On your knees.”

Ben scrambles to comply, and John can’t help but appreciate the aesthetics of his body. Ben’s solid, all compact muscle, and John’s touched and tasted every inch of him. He kneels behind Ben, his hands rubbing lightly at the curves of his ass, sweeping up from the top of Ben’s thighs to his lower back before moving down. He spreads Ben wide, parting the globes of his ass and opening him up, the tight pink muscle furled tight against the warm breath John blows out. Ben’s body convulses, jerking away before he pushes back, his whole body asking though he doesn’t actually manage more than a few bitten off noises.

John hums a low noise deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against Sherman’s skin as John presses his lips to the hole, kissing softly before he flicks his tongue over the opening. Sherman jerks again and John’s thumbs and fingers dig in to hold him still. Ben groans and John keeps licking, working the bright pink skin until Ben relaxes slightly, leaning back into John’s darting tongue. John blows a stream of warm air again and then pushes his tongue inside, working the tip past the tightness, his thumbs spreading Sherman wider.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sherman moans softly, his head falling forward so all John can see when he raises his eyes is the slope and curve of Ben’s spine. He tastes Ben, the heat and sweat and musk and soap. The smell of Ben sharp, carved into his memory, as John’s tongue flicks at the sensitive, soft skin. He listens to the desperate gasps Ben’s making, his body rocking back against John’s hands. Ben hisses out syllables that might be words, though John can’t really tell and doesn’t care because they’re not stop, so that means they mean “yes” and “more”.

Sherman’s legs tremble and John can tell he’s getting close, can feel the shift in Sherman’s breath. He pulls back, his thumbs still rubbing over Sherman’s ass as John arches his back, waiting for relief of the tension before he takes the lube and condom Sherman’s grabbed from the bedside table. The shock of the cool lube he’s applied liberally to Sherman’s opening only lasts for a brief moment when he slides into Sherman’s heat, teasing Ben about shrinkage even as he pushes until his cock is buried deep.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Sherman groans, and yeah, that’s begging, but John’s a big enough man that he doesn’t have to rub it in, at least not right now. Later’s a different story. For now, he just starts moving, his cock rocking deep inside Sherman with every stroke. The whole world narrows down to a few sensations – tight and hot and close and _Ben_ , and John doesn’t care about anything but making it last. It can’t. He knows it can’t, because he can’t - because Sherman is so fucking perfect around him. But he holds back as long as he can, only giving in when Sherman shifts down onto one elbow, his head on the bed as he reaches back and starts stroking himself in time with John’s thrusts. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, John. Yes.”

It’s enough to push him over the edge, his name on Ben’s lips like a prayer and the way Ben’s body tightens, constricting around his cock like he’s never going to let go. Then there’s the certain knowledge that Ben’s coming too, the gasps that John knows so well from the nights they’ve been echoed against his skin. He stills deep inside Ben as his whole body pulses from it, blood pounding in his veins. He can’t breathe.

“Fuck.” Cooper presses a kiss to Sherman’s shoulder blade licking at the sweat beaded on his skin before he shifts back. His knees protest along with his back as he pulls out, listening to the soft hitch of Ben’s breath. He disposes of the condom and flops down on the bed, looking over at the short hair on the nape of Sherman’s neck. He reaches up, rubbing his fingers against it. “Fuck,” he says again, half-amused and half-impressed.

Sherman turns his head and laughs once, not really making any sound. His eyes are bright and a smile curves his lips. John’s fairly certain that they’re not actually going to get around to whatever Sherman was making for at least an hour or two. Ben leans over, brushing a kiss against John’s mouth before yawning. “You weren’t really hungry, were you?”

“No.” John lies, turning onto his side and pulling Ben in closer. He’ll put the stuff away after Ben falls asleep. Maybe. “Dinner can wait.”  



End file.
